


There’s Always a First

by Rider_of_Spades



Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Attempt at Humor, Closeted Character, Emotional Constipation, First Time, Light Angst, M/M, They're just plain awkward, Timeskip, but they make it work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 06:24:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1768918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rider_of_Spades/pseuds/Rider_of_Spades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For everything. Juumonji’s POV, on the priceless in the ordinary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There’s Always a First

**Author's Note:**

> This AU takes place during Sena and co.'s 2nd year in Deimon High, with Musashi, Hiruma, Yukimitsu and Kurita all continuing playing football. 
> 
> (So their farewell ceremony in the photos shown for the final manga chapter actually happened during the end of their third year.)

 

The first time they did it, it fucking _hurt._

 

And Juumonji found himself wanting to punch the heavy, confused oaf on top of him, if he could just stop concentrating on chewing his lip bloody and breathing first. More than that, he wanted to punch _himself_ , because just how in the blazes had he imagined this to be pleasurable? He was going to sue the entire gay porn industry for selling him this fake fantasy; that stuff about guys with more sensitive nipples being better bottoms had to be pure shit too.

 

_Fuck. First things first. BREATHE._

Then maybe he could berate this rough, senseless prick for shoving it all the way in. And bash his face too if he dared use any word that even sounded close to ‘bitch’.

 

Speaking of which, wasn’t the usually loud, hyper idiot just a little too quiet?

 

The Deimon lineman opened his eyes –only to be greeted by another pair that was _way_ too close.

 

…A pair of eyes that said their owner didn’t know what to do.

 

Bastard was utterly _clueless_! Couldn’t even ask if he was okay, Kami. Totally, fucking, _tactless._

 

(And yet he didn’t bother to hide his concern.)

 

Juumonji sighed heavily through his nose. Good news was, his ass didn’t feel like it was gonna rip anymore. So he slapped the darker butt on top, which jumped, and grunted, “Move.”

 

(He soon forgot why he was complaining to begin with.)

 

(But remembered the very next morning.)

* * *

 

Staring. Ikari was definitely staring.

 

It was with a mixture of amusement and exasperation that Juumonji observed the animalistic eyes following his tightly-clad hips–and not Deimon’s new trick plays, which all the Oujou White Knights had come purposely to absorb.

 

Not that he was complaining. On the field, Ikari was still his enemy, and every chance they gained from hoarding their tactics was welcome. But still! This wasn’t the way he’d hoped they’d get it. Not to mention Hiruma, always too scarily astute beyond human limits, was still here and could catch on any minute. Damn demon had (unsurprisingly) “persuaded” the principal into giving him and the rest of the seniors another shot at the Christmas Bowl.

 

A jolt of relief entered his adrenaline-wired system as he saw Sakuraba bend over and talk to his instantly flustered junior–with what appeared to be a long-suffering sigh. It had been too much to hope for, that they could keep it under wraps forever, but at least the only other one in the loop was also that one other gay on Oujou’s team (Takami, his partner, had graduated).

 

Then the signal for the start of the second half sounded, and Juumonji’s mind snapped reflexively into combat, brooding on the subject no more.

* * *

 

He’d never pegged Ikari as the romantic type, so he was really taken aback when the bouquet was shoved into his face.

 

(They were _roses_. He was darn lucky the thorns hadn’t stabbed his face or eyes, the idiot.)

 

Seriously though, it would’ve been a whole lot better if the other man had bought him dinner instead, or some action flick. Instead, he got something that he’d have to hide once he got home, something that would probably die very soon and sprout mould, stinking up his bedroom.

 

But maybe, maybe something about the way it hinted that he wasn’t just one of the guys that made him grudgingly accept it.

 

(And grin like a barmy retard later while looking at them, when there was no one else around to see it– _especially_ Ikari Daigo.)

 

(Till he caught sight of himself in the mirror, and groaned.)

 

(They were _both_ fucking stupid.)

* * *

 

“I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” Ikari grumbled, sitting down and crossing his legs.

 

“Then you better believe it,” Juumonji growled. “An F? _Five_ Fs?! What the fuck, man! I know Oujou is an escalator school, but you gotta have more brains than this!”

 

“ORA! Are you insulting Oujou?!”

 

“No, you moron, I’m insulting _you._ Now read this. We’re starting with History today before moving on to English.”

 

The white-haired lineman cursed some more and picked up the paper. “Fuck, shouldn’t have chosen Mortal Kombat if I knew you were going to pwn me at it.”

 

“You could’ve picked any game in the centre and I’d _still_ win our bet. I play regularly against _Kuroki_ , for God’s sake.”

 

“…so?”

 

“You heard of Konami’s Arcade Championship?”

 

“Yeah. Don’t tell me…”

 

“He’s been aiming for top spot for years. Last time he went at it, he made it into the finals. Got beat before he could represent Kanto, but was still listed in the top 20s.”

 

“….shit.”

 

“Got that right. Now start reading the damn sheet.”

 

That didn’t stop Ikari from whining, but well, so long as he obeyed.

* * *

 

“Not bad,” Ikari beamed, hand coursing through the altered bristles. “You actually look badass now.”

 

Juumonji swatted his wrist away from his head and frowned. “Did you just suggest I wasn’t manly before?”

 

Like a child, the Oujou footballer sensed the fight, and his grin turned feral. “Maybe.”

 

“I’ll kill you, bastard.”

 

(Somehow the play-fighting became half-real, and Ikari ended up sporting a busted lip for his cheek–which Juumonji swooped in to peck swiftly after he’d applied the iodine, even though the medicinal taste grossed him out.)

 

(And Ikari smiled, even though the contact and the very act of stretching his wound hurt.)

 

(Certainly Juumonji did not miss the way his gaze had been boiling with approving heat.)

* * *

 

They were making out in the back of Oujou’s club room after their teams’ co-practice match, Juumonji’s consciousness lost between teeth, lips and the sandy coarseness of the palms on him, when a squeak and the sight of dreadfully familiar spiky brown hair sent him crashing down to reality.

 

Then it was just panic, _panic_ –because he wasn’t ready, not here, not now; he’d _never_ wanted the whole world to come knocking on his secret like this–that made him lash out at Ikari–who dodged and cursed–before breaking into a dead run through the door.

 

That summer training camp must’ve boosted his stamina real good; they were already a-ways outside Oujou when Ikari’d finally caught his shoulder and didn’t let go. Then it was a question of who stopped panting first; Ikari did–but then Juumonji started shouting.

 

About why he just couldn’t keep his fucking hands to himself; how they were just so _screwed_ , _fuck_ ; he didn’t _want_ to be kicked out of school or off his team; Kami, how he wished–if only–

 

“DON’T YOU FUCKING _DARE_!”

 

It was not the anger or volume in that roar that caught his attention–he’d heard those a thousand times–but the edge of ragged _fear_ in Ikari’s voice that brought him back to earth.

 

And he blinked, and finally saw the other male’s face. Blindly furious, it was as fearsome as all the hearsay surrounding him had described, radiating power and aggression–but what struck him was that split-second flit of desperation.

 

That’s when the cramped feeling on his own chest started to disappear.

 

When they returned, Sena, being Sena, was waiting at the gates and doubly relieved, then blushing and unable to meet their eyes. It was excruciatingly awkward for all three of them, but the smaller boy still managed to stammer firmly that they had his full understanding and support (yes, e-even if they h-had to face down Hi-Hiruma).

 

(And oh Kami did he just say something extremely _scary_????)

 

Juumonji just had to smile, okay, _fondly_ , at this point, at this little lion-mouse who sometimes showed more courage than him, than anyone he’s ever known.

 

(And every time afterwards when Ikari “happened to be passing by” Deimon, Sena would smile watching the two of them, while Monta stared at him confusedly, and Hiruma…)

 

(Hiruma just rolled his eyes at everything.)

* * *

 

“Wow,” Juumonji said half-dazedly, studying Ikari’s academic reports. He knew he had been tutoring his rival-slash-(… _something_ ) for about four months now, but just, _wow_.

 

“Told ’ja,” The tanner high-schooler stated, very smugly, joining his fingers together above his head. “I can be pretty damn smart too if I feel like it.”

 

“And pretty damn hot-tempered,” Juumonji retorted. “If you hadn’t gotten suspended so many times for fighting, I’ll bet we didn’t even have to resort to this.”

 

“And you luuuurrrvvvve me anyway,” Ikari cackled. Somehow, somehow, Juumonji could tell it wasn’t a joke, not really, and that something monumental had just happened, so he doesn’t punch the clown that hard in protest.

 

They went for semi-classy pizza instead of the usual fast food, train bento or roadside ramen to celebrate, and Juumonji let Ikari do him over the kitchen table, behind drawn blinds, before taking the lead in the shower.

 

So he was sleepy and full, completely at peace, when he rolled over and looked at Ikari’s back, at the way the thrift-store pyjamas outlined his broad shoulders. And suddenly, absolutely sure that the other was asleep, for no reason whatsoever, he muttered “Me too,” before his eyes closed.

 

(And maybe Ikari wasn’t really all that dead to the world then, because there’s something particularly sharp and crazy about his smile the next day, the next _week._ )

 

(Juumonji, of course, was bloody _mortified_ , but it was too late; too late.)

 

(And Ikari knew he knew, but just smirked, and they said nothing.)

 

(The silence said everything.)

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. “F” (also a “fuka”): the only fail or unacceptable grade in the Japanese academic grading system. 
> 
>  
> 
> 2\. An escalator school: a high school affiliated to a university, where all its high-schoolers will gain immediate admission regardless of academic performance. Oujou High School’s status as an escalator school was mentioned in the manga (in fact, this is how Otawara continued his tertiary education.) [*self brain goes bam]
> 
>  
> 
> 3\. Kuroki’s talent in arcade games: mentioned in the manga (but his participation in the Konami Arcade Championship is my own invention)
> 
>  
> 
> 4\. Konami Arcade Championship/ KAC: An actual, real-life games tournament held annually by Japanese gaming company Konami.
> 
>  
> 
> 5\. Ikari’s academic improvement: in my headcanon, he’s not actually stupid, but of average intelligence. Instead, the reason why he behaves so moronically is because of his hot temper and tendency to do things before thinking properly. So he’s sort of like Juumonji, but with lower EQ and IQ…. (or maybe more like Kuroki).
> 
>  
> 
> So is this OOC? Not sure if I'm doing any more of this pairing -this is one of my old stories -but I hope you enjoyed.


End file.
